


singularity

by honeymoon_croon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Coffee Shops, College AU, Everything is good, Fluff, Hickeys, M/M, Non Explicit Sex, Non-Penetrative Sex, Praise, explanations of abstract anthropological concepts, felix is a broody college student, lots of hickeys, sylvain is adoring and a ray of sunshine, trans character written by a trans person, trans felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 00:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20684549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymoon_croon/pseuds/honeymoon_croon
Summary: Their meetings always seem to happen at odd times: a quick study session for half an hour in between Felix’s six classes, followed the next week by intensive four-hour tutorials that Felix is sure leave Sylvain’s mind spinning with concepts, definitions, and existential crises. However, this one is particularly peculiar: Sylvain’s frantic text message of ‘please dear god can we review tonight i’m seeing the TA in the morning and i’m freaking the FUCK out’ delivers just as Felix’s head hits the pillow.





	singularity

Felix is well aware that he is an overachiever, but he never thought he’d be meeting someone at two in the morning for a tutoring session. 

His father has always praised his quick mind: as soon as Felix was walking, he was pulling books off shelves and sounding out the words he could recognize on the pages. In between karate and fencing classes, Felix was always lost inside those pages that managed to separate him from the Fraldarius estate, expose him to a world that he never knew existed. With bright eyes, he’d show his brother pictures of ancient artifacts, of rituals and religions from countries across oceans, from families that were foreign but not beneath his own. Glenn had always encouraged his fascination. Their father, however, hadn’t been so keen.

With a kid as bright as Felix, Rodrigue must’ve been hoping for a doctor, a lawyer, an engineer, or an accountant. Hell, even a degree in English would’ve been acceptable. The look on his father’s face when he declared he was pursuing a career in  _ anthropology _ had been absolutely priceless. Glenn had laughed gleefully.

Felix has learned through his two years at university that, despite how much people claim to know about academia, most of them can’t seem to pinpoint what anthropology actually is. This is especially evident in linguistics major Sylvain Jose Gautier. 

“I dunno,” he admits during their first meeting, wincing at the red marks littering the essay that has most certainly received a failing grade. “I took this as an elective because I thought it’d be easy. This stuff’s a lot less wishy-washy than it looks, huh?” 

Sylvain is in his final year of university: a failing grade in an elective could be enough to hold him back from graduating next semester. In a panic, he’d contacted the tutoring network. After going through virtually every other tutor in his graduating class, he’d ended up finding Felix. Despite what the rest of the tutors had said about Sylvain’s huge ego, he’d reluctantly agreed to the job.

Their meetings always seem to happen at odd times: a quick study session for half an hour in between Felix’s six classes, followed the next week by intensive four-hour tutorials that Felix is sure leave Sylvain’s mind spinning with concepts, definitions, and existential crises. However, this one is particularly peculiar: Sylvain’s frantic text message of ‘ _ please dear god can we review tonight i’m seeing the TA in the morning and i’m freaking the FUCK out’  _ delivers just as Felix’s head hits the pillow. 

A grumpy, sleepy Felix declines curtly, but then Sylvain offers him double time for the trouble. Needless to say, he gets dressed again shortly after, tying his hair up into a quick, messy bun. 

The coffee shop is empty, save for a few caffeine-addled first-years typing furiously on their laptops. Felix orders an Americano and sits at a booth, pulling out his notebook and checking the time on his phone. Sylvain should be here any minute now. 

Five minutes pass. Nothing.

Ten. Nothing.

Fifteen. Felix’s jaw sets.

After twenty minutes, he sets out to leave. As soon as Felix’s notebook closes, the bell on the door tinkles, signaling a new customer.

Standing in the light in front of the late-night shadows, far too tall and big for his own good, is Sylvain Jose Gautier. The collar of his jean jacket is popped, and his messy auburn hair is even wilder than usual. His shoulders are broad: enough that he takes up the entire doorway as he enters. Sylvain pats himself down for his wallet when he buys his drink, like he hadn’t expected it to cost  _ money. _ He flashes a sideways grin at the barista as she pulls the espresso for his latte, and Felix’s stomach ties itself into knots. 

After what seems like more than an idle chat with the barista, Sylvain finally takes a seat across from Felix. He smiles, but Felix merely raises an eyebrow. Sylvain certainly has some  _ nerve _ .

“Sorry for being late,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one large hand. “I didn’t think she’d take that long.”

_ She? _ No. No way. There is no fucking way he has asked for Felix’s help  _ this _ late because of a one-night-stand. Absolutely not. Impossible. Except for the fact that it’s absolutely  _ certainly _ the case, especially with how Sylvain’s hair is tousled like he’s just rolled out of bed.

Felix can practically feel sandpaper grating on his patience. He keeps his voice cool, despite the clear irritation that must be written all across his face.

“For a grown man, you certainly don’t have a very good sense of time.” 

Sylvain sighs, but laughs nonetheless. “Damn, Felix! Ice cold, makin’ me feel so old this late at night. I’m hurt.” He feigns getting stabbed through the heart, leaning back in his chair for dramatic effect. His hair bounces as he goes--it’s endearing. Felix hates it.

“You’re twenty-two. Get a grip,” he snaps. Even so, he pulls out his notebook and opens it up again. 

“Two years older than you! You should learn to respect your elders, Fe,” Sylvain claps back, grinning goofily all the while. The nickname makes the hair on Felix’s neck prickle. The temptation to use his martial arts expertise to flip Sylvain over the table and send him flying into the drip coffee machines is overwhelming, but Felix resists. He needs this job.

“Whatever. Get your notes out. You’ve been paying attention during the lectures, haven’t you?” 

Sylvain nods, yanking out his notebook. Surprisingly, he keeps everything organized and tidy, despite the fact that he’s still on thin ice with the class. Felix is a good tutor, but not a miracle worker. The effectiveness of these sessions all depends on Sylvain’s willingness to learn. 

He turns to the latest used page, and Felix counts three bullet points. 

Felix feels his lips curl into a scowl. “Sylvain, I swear to God--” 

Sylvain puts his hands up in defense, speaking quickly. “Look! I was trying to follow, I swear. I figured, maybe if I didn’t write everything down and just listened, that maybe it’d sink in better, but--” 

“But  _ nothing, _ ” Felix interjects, shooting Sylvain the sternest stare he can muster. It seems to work. Sylvain sighs. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just...lost with this idea, I guess. That’s why I wanted your help,” he mumbles, biting his lip apprehensively. Felix’s eyes drift to the gentle tug of teeth of their own accord. He closes his eyes, refocuses. After a deep breath, he looks at Sylvain again, trying to soften himself a bit. 

“...I understand,” Felix responds, his voice quieter. “Let’s just get started and get you used to the concepts. Do you have the syllabus?” 

Sylvain nods and pulls out the piece of paper, handing it over. Felix looks through it, eyes quickly scanning the text for a description of the week’s lecture. He can feel Sylvain watching him, but brushes it off quickly. The key term that appears on the date he’s looking for is  _ singularity. _

“This is what you’re having trouble with, right?” Felix double-checks, showing Sylvain the term. He nods, eyes wide. It’s almost like he’s afraid of it. Felix feels his lips twitch upwards momentarily. 

“I don’t blame you. I had a lot of trouble with it, too,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Sylvain. “Singularity has to do with the ‘who,’ instead of the ‘what,’” Felix pauses. “The little things someone does that make them come alive. The traits can be good or bad, common or unique. But when they’re placed on a specific person, you’re deeply reminded of their humanity. It can apply to the inanimate, too.”

Sylvain tilts his head, and Felix can practically see the question mark hanging in the air above him. Felix sips his coffee, trying to come up with an example that will explain the term effectively. Rote definitions of the more abstract concepts don’t work with Sylvain: he needs real-life applications to help him remember such big ideas. 

“Let’s take this coffee shop, for example. Imagine you grew up with it and drank the normal, unimpressive drip coffee all the time.” Sylvain raises an eyebrow, but Felix shoots him a look that keeps him quiet. “It’s just regular coffee. Not particularly different from any other kind. But you wouldn’t feel the same drinking coffee from another place after coming here all the time, would you? Because you’re recognizing the singularity of this particular shop. How it seems to live alongside you.” 

Sylvain still has that lost-puppy expression on his face. Felix sighs. 

“I know. It’s kind of hard to grasp, isn’t it? The entire concept is based on the fact that you can’t put the feeling into words,” he muses. “It’s fine. We can review the rest of the material first and come back to it later.” 

They get to work. Felix discusses the more concrete topics with Sylvain: the authors, scholars, and explorers, along with what they studied and the articles they wrote. Sylvain bites at the end of his pen in between thoughts, turning his head up to look at Felix whenever he needs further explanation. He checks the definitions and dates, notices how neat and clean Sylvain’s handwriting is--nothing close to his own messy scrawl. Aside from the occasional discussion of topics relevant to the lectures, Felix remains quiet, watching as Sylvain writes. Felix smiles to himself when Sylvain gets the definition right; he can tell when an idea has  _ really _ set in by the way Sylvain’s eyes seem to light up. He can practically  _ see _ the gears in his head turning, things clicking into place, and it fills Felix with contentment and  _ relief _ that his efforts to help Sylvain are finally paying off.

After about an hour and a half, Sylvain smiles. “I think I’ve got it.” 

Felix can’t help but smile back. “Good. You’re ready to tackle the big idea.”

Sylvain places his hands behind his head, looking directly into Felix’s eyes. His body language comes off as nothing short of  _ douchey _ , but Felix can tell that the glint behind those light brown irises is genuine. 

“Nah. I’m good. I get it now.” 

Felix chokes on his last sip of lukewarm coffee. “What?” 

Sylvain laughs, deep and full, separate from the way he laughs when he’s chatting up girls in the library or cornering the TAs during office hours. “I understand what you mean. Singularity.” 

Felix’s eyes narrow. “Seriously? I just had you memorize dates and people for an hour, and you magically understand an abstract concept?” 

Sylvain’s grin sharpens. “Yep. John Berger. The Marxist who wrote  _ Portraits _ . He talked about it.”

Felix nods. “Yes, but--”

“He talked about what made an oil painting come alive. He mentioned how the artist would look away from his subject and paint what he remembered about them. What parts of them were ingrained in his soul, or something.”

“Yeah, so? Can you tell me what it means?” Felix feels his palms starting to sweat. He’s not sure if it’s the coffee, or the fact that Sylvain hasn’t taken his eyes off him this whole time. 

“It means I haven’t looked away enough.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about--”

Suddenly, something big and warm is clasping Felix’s hand. Sylvain’s fingers have interlocked with his own, in what seems like far too little time. Felix is frozen, save for the occasional caffeine-induced twitch. 

“When I’ve gotten something right, you smile enough that your top and bottom eyelashes touch,” Sylvain says, his voice quiet. Felix’s heart skips. 

“I don’t know how you managed to notice that,” he grumbles, even though every nerve in his body has decided to feel too much yet too little, simultaneously. 

“It took me looking away from you to notice it,” Sylvain explains. “But you smiled when you thought I  _ wasn’t _ looking. It reminded me of how you’re here. And alive.” 

Here.  _ Alive _ . Felix dwells on those simple words for a moment. He reminds himself that this late-night coffee date won’t ever repeat itself. 

Wait. 

_ Date? _

Sylvain must be watching when Felix’s face flushes red. He squeezes Felix’s hand, turns it over to run his thumb over the blue veins just beneath the delicate flesh of his wrist. Felix shivers. 

“C’mon, let’s go. I’ll walk you home.”

* * *

Felix doesn’t expect Sylvain to follow him up the stairs into his apartment, but his throat is too dry to object. His studio apartment is far too cramped for the two of them, especially considering that Felix hasn’t cleaned it up in a while: there are papers and notebooks littered all around his bed, along with a few empty bags of the beef jerky he likes to snack on. Sylvain, cheerful as ever, doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his gaze bypasses all the mess and settles directly on Felix’s bookshelf, full of titles Felix hasn’t gotten around to reading because of his tight schedule. 

“ _ The Mind of Primitive Man? _ ” Sylvain reads the spine of a book aloud, turning to Felix. 

Felix plops his keys on the counter of the kitchenette, next to a pile of junk mail he hasn’t tossed yet. “Franz Boaz. I got that one to understand how to talk to you.” 

Sylvain snorts a little, but shoots Felix a good-natured smile. “Good one.” 

Felix feels his heart melting into his stomach and far too much heat rushing to his cheeks.

“Oh, that’s right.” Sylvain runs a hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck, like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. “I forgot to pay you for your help earlier.” 

His hands fumble for his wallet and pull out a couple bills, holding them out. For some reason, Felix feels the slight sting of guilt as he steps over and pockets the cash, but it doesn’t stop him from accepting it. He needs to go grocery shopping, anyway. 

Sylvain tilts his head. There’s that look again, the gentle sear of light brown, almost-gold eyes into Felix’s skull. Felix wouldn’t be surprised if Sylvain can see his thoughts now, expose all his vulnerabilities. His hands ball up into fists, praying Sylvain can’t see how his they’re starting to shake. In such a small space, it feels like Sylvain is  _ looming  _ over him, and Felix is  _ this _ close to suplexing him onto the wall-to-wall carpet. 

“By the way, Felix,” Sylvain adds, his voice dipping softer. Felix feels warm fingers pressing into the small of his back. “I’m...really grateful. For this. For you.” 

Felix can tell he really means it. The words are said without being enveloped by Sylvain’s infamous silver tongue. He is being honest, candid, and yet--

“How many people have you done this to?” Felix is surprised to hear how quiet his voice is, even though he’d intended on making the words far sharper. Instead, they just sound  _ weak. _

“A few. I mean...yeah, I’ve had help from other people, but you’re the one who’s been sticking with me the most. You believe in me.” 

Felix blinks. The idea that people  _ don’t _ believe in Sylvain puzzles him. Sure, he was apprehensive about tutoring him at first, but the time they’ve spent together has proven to be beneficial for the both of them. Sylvain is bright and clearly intelligent. His flaws  _ do _ tend to interfere with his studies, but the intention to learn and grow is evident. The fact that people don’t share this belief kicks up a flurry of irritation in Felix’s chest. 

“I believe in you because you’re smart, dumbass. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t  _ smart.” _

Sylvain laughs again, quieter. Felix will probably hear that laugh in his dreams. He becomes far more aware of how Sylvain’s fingertips are tracing up and down the lower half of his spine. 

“Doesn’t hurt that you’re hot, too. You’ve got the whole broody, anti-capitalist student look going for you.” 

Felix narrows his eyes, despite the fact that his skin feels like a flamethrower has ignited beneath it.

“You’re insufferable.” 

Sylvain just hums, pressing Felix closer. He leans down to let their foreheads touch. It’s intimate enough to make Felix’s skin crawl. He looks anywhere,  _ anywhere _ but into Sylvain’s eyes. For a moment, he’s sure he’s just another victim of Sylvain’s unfortunate little  _ habit _ , another tally to his body count. He’s already bedded a girl tonight, after all. Felix is sure that this isn’t real, and it bothers him, even though it shouldn’t. Sylvain owes him nothing.

Felix’s hands move to press against Sylvain’s chest. He’s about to shove him back, to force him out of his apartment for good, when he remembers. 

_ You smiled when you thought I wasn’t looking. It reminded me of how you’re here. And alive. _

Sylvain is alive under his fingertips. He can feel his warm skin from beneath the fabric of his linen shirt, feels his heartbeat from even deeper down. He detects how Sylvain is alive in how his fingers brush against Felix’s spine, and how his own body is reacting, how the tension present from earlier is dripping down and disappearing into the ground beneath his feet. No mild-mannered college hookup has been as friendly and gentle with him as Sylvain has, this  _ intimate. _ It’s scary, but it’s  _ fascinating. _

Felix dares to look back up.

To his surprise, Sylvain’s eyes are closed. From this close, Felix can see the freckles dotted across his nose, the way Sylvain’s eyelashes ever-so-slightly caress the very tops of his cheekbones. His lips--far more entrancing, now that they’re so close to Felix’s own--are drawn upwards in a perpetually pensive smile. 

He’s not making any moves. He’s simply enjoying their closeness. Enjoying Felix. 

All it takes is the upward tilt of Felix’s chin for their lips to touch. 

Despite his peaceful state, Sylvain responds immediately, his free hand lifting to set itself comfortably beneath Felix’s jaw. His thumb strokes Felix’s cheek as their lips move together slowly, like they have all the time in the world. Like it isn’t almost five in the morning. 

Felix can tell that Sylvain is experienced by how he smiles into their kiss, teeth playfully scraping against Felix’s lower lip to coax his mouth further open. Felix tastes coffee lingering on Sylvain’s tongue when it slides against his. One of them sighs into it; Felix isn’t sure who.

Felix is the one who pulls back first, lips separated but still close enough to feel Sylvain’s heavy breaths mingling with his own. Sylvain’s normally bright eyes are hazier now. 

“Felix…” He trails off, and Felix shakes his head. 

“You’re not going anywhere, bastard,” Felix murmurs, with no heat behind it. 

Sylvain’s lips curl up into a grin, and Felix can’t help but mirror the gesture. Sylvain reaches up to undo the hair tie that keeps Felix’s hair contained. Felix’s hair cascades down to his shoulders, a few strands falling into his face. Sylvain brushes them back into place before Felix can. 

He shifts so that he’s pushing Sylvain back onto the bed, straddling his hips with his thighs. Sylvain wraps his arms around him again, thumbs rubbing just beneath the hemline of Felix’s shirt. The touch makes Felix shiver as he yanks Sylvain’s denim jacket off his broad shoulders and tosses it aside, eliciting a chuckle from Sylvain. 

“Hey, hold on a minute. That jacket was expensive.”

“Do I look like I give a shit?” 

“No, I know, but you shouldn’t just toss it around like--oh.”

Sylvain’s voice is effectively silenced by Felix’s lips at his jaw. He’s taking his time to kiss the entire expanse of bone there, over the slight stubble that is just starting to grow back. Felix’s hands are moving on their own now, touching over Sylvain’s chest and lightly scratching down his back. There’s a lot of ground to cover, after all--Sylvain is a lot larger than he is. Felix would complain, but he fits  _ perfectly _ in the crook of Sylvain’s neck, and Sylvain’s hands are big enough to ease any uncertainty away. It’s then that he notices the freshly-made bruises that are already blooming on the tanned skin, hidden by that god-awful popped collar before. Sylvain places a hand lightly on the back of Felix’s head, brows furrowing a bit.

“Hey, that’s just from...someone. Heh. What was her name, shit--” 

Felix looks up at him with a glare. “Quiet. I don’t want to hear about the other people you’ve fucked tonight while we’re in the middle of this.” 

Sylvain lifts his free hand and salutes, grinning goofily. “Yes, sir.” 

The bruises are small, pretty. Felix likes the way they look on Sylvain’s neck, how the dark purple contrasts with his olive skin. He likes them, but he wishes they were his. 

He kisses over a bruise, feels Sylvain’s Adam’s apple bob up and down at his touch. One of Felix’s hands loses itself in Sylvain’s hair, tugging back at the crown of his head to expose his neck completely. Sylvain lets out a soft groan as Felix’s tongue moves over each little mark. The sounds don’t hinder Felix in the slightest; in fact, they only make the air between them grow heavier with something they both know well enough not to explain.

He reaches Sylvain’s collarbone and gets to work. 

Felix’s teeth catch the already-sensitive spots between them, biting down and sucking hard enough to leave larger bruises on top of the existing ones. He’s being cautious, not wanting anything to hurt too badly, but the sting of Felix’s teeth on Sylvain’s neck is only making the man beneath him let out more of those low, rich sounds. Felix works his way back up Sylvain’s neck, covering each small bruise with a larger one of his own, as well as adding a few that weren’t there before. If Sylvain wants to hide them, he might have to borrow a few of Felix’s turtlenecks for the next week or so. The idea of Sylvain  _ wearing _ Felix crashes a wave of possession over him, a feeling that sends his mind spiraling. 

By the time Felix is done, Sylvain’s neck is peppered in shiny purple marks. Felix moves back upwards to face him, lets his nose touch Sylvain’s tenderly. His eyes refocus on Felix’s, and the fog within them makes heat percolate through his body.

“You’re real good at that,” he murmurs, eyeing Felix’s lips before pulling him in for another, more heated kiss. Fireworks bounce back and forth inside Felix’s brain as Sylvain takes the lead, those warm hands pressing at his thighs and squeezing them easily. 

Sylvain switches their positions effortlessly, maneuvering Felix so that he’s lying down completely. Felix’s head gently hits the pillow, and Sylvain pushes his chin up with an authoritative force that makes Felix let out a soft sound he didn’t know he was capable of vocalizing. 

Sylvain is insistent now: tongue delving into Felix’s mouth to lave it over his own; palms pushing Felix’s sweater up, exposing the tender flesh of his stomach. They part only for Felix to remove the offending article of clothing, and for Sylvain to absorb every inch of his lithe figure. The hungry pair of eyes above him aren’t intimidating, but Felix squirms beneath them anyway. He busies himself instead with tugging off Sylvain’s linen shirt, the thin fabric suddenly feeling all too obtrusive. 

Felix was well aware that Sylvain was muscular, but this is just  _ unfair _ . Sylvain has the perfect balance of muscle and pudge, of hard and soft, and the purple marks that cover his neck only increase his appeal.

It’s no wonder he does this all the time. 

Sylvain waggles his eyebrows. “Like what you see?” 

Felix’s lip curls. “Don’t make me boost your ego even higher,” he growls.

Sylvain just laughs, pressing a surprisingly soft peck to his lips. “You’re always so  _ scary, _ ” he muses, fingertips skating lightly down Felix’s sides. He fidgets again, holding back laughter at the ticklish feeling. Sylvain leans down, voice dropping to a tone Felix can only describe as  _ dangerous _ \--that is, if he didn’t know how harmless Sylvain really is.

“You think you’re pushing people away, but it’s just endearing,” he rumbles, sucking gently at Felix’s earlobe. “You’re like a  _ kitten. _ ”

“Shut up…” 

Felix couldn’t disagree more with what Sylvain is actually saying, but the way he’s practically  _ purring _ in his ear, pressing warm kisses to the plane of his neck, is so  _ deliciously _ good that he can’t say anything more. 

Sylvain laughs. “You really did a number on me back there. Now it’s my turn, okay?” 

Felix nods dumbly, back arching upwards immediately after when he feels Sylvain’s teeth sinking into the side of his neck. The flesh there is long untouched--Felix can’t remember the last time anyone’s given it this kind of attention. 

Sylvain is taking his sweet time, his breaths hot and his mouth  _ hotter _ as it kisses and bites and licks its way down to Felix’s collarbone, leaving a dismodest trail of bruises in its wake. Felix is trying to bite back his moans, but his brain and his body feel separate now; completely mismatched from the goosebumps that prickle his flesh and the way his fingers are curling in Sylvain’s hair, holding onto him for dear life. 

“ _ Sylvain _ ,” Felix hears himself whisper. A name. The name of the person who is living and breathing and making history with him. A name that will be appearing in his head and lingering on his lips every night following this one. 

“I’m right here, kitten,” he mumbles, his tongue soothing the sting from a bruise at Felix’s collarbone. Felix’s body is tingling, keening, moving directly into every little touch. Sylvain presses more kisses against his chest, over the two lines of scar tissue that have long since healed. His hips drop against Felix’s, and the friction does nothing to calm the stirring in his lower abdomen. 

When Sylvain’s hand moves to undo Felix’s pants, he doesn’t stop it.

When Sylvain’s fingers begin to move in perfect,  _ magic _ circles through the fabric of his boxer briefs, Felix yanks Sylvain’s head back up to face him.

“Talk to me,” Felix insists through gritted teeth. The rubbing sensation is a familiar one, but the touch of Sylvain’s hand in particular is thrilling and new. Felix knows he’s vulnerable this way, but it feels  _ incredible _ to have someone fulfill these deep, intimate wishes without so much as batting an eyelash. It’s overwhelming, to the point where a few tears prick at the corners of Felix’s eyes. Sylvain takes notice.

He pauses all of his movements, looking down at Felix carefully. “Hey, hey. Don’t worry. It’s cool, we can stop if you want to--” 

Felix looks at him with the heat of a thousand suns. His vision is blurring a little around the edges, but Sylvain’s expression remains crystal-clear.   
“No,” he growls. “I didn’t tell you to stop. Just...stay up here. Talk to me. Please.” 

Sylvain nods, shifts so he’s lying on his side behind Felix. As quickly as it had stopped, the hand between Felix’s thighs begins to press against him again. 

“You’re really beautiful, you know. Perfect. I like the sounds you make, especially when you...” 

Sylvain trails off when he hears the quiet, breathy moan that manages to escape Felix’s lips.

“Yeah, that.” He laughs breathlessly. “You don’t have to hold it back.”

“Force of habit,” Felix chokes out, his hips angling eagerly into Sylvain’s touch. “Go under, Sylvain.” 

Sylvain obeys, fingers pushing beneath the waistband of his undergarments, and Felix hisses at the heightened sensitivity. His free hand is running through Felix’s hair, massaging his scalp rhythmically, and the moan Felix lets out is in perfect harmony with the rest of their movements. 

“Felix.” Sylvain says his name softly, without a trace of any Casanova-esque facade remaining. It’s him, pure and raw--the Sylvain everyone claims to know but has never met.

“I want you, Felix. I’ve wanted this for a long time.” 

In that moment, the realization slams down on him like a punch to the gut: he’s wanted Sylvain, too.

_ He has always wanted Sylvain. _

Maybe it was the way Sylvain would laugh at immature things during their tutoring sessions, or the way his smile seemed attentive and cheerful, yet pensive at the same time. His carefree laugh, his warm hands, the way he moves with a confidence that Felix can mimic but can never  _ achieve. _

_ The little things someone does that make them come alive. _

The tears he’s been holding back start to fall silently down his cheeks as he tilts his head back and moans. Sylvain leans closer to press gentle kisses to the nape of his neck, his fingers continuing their magic at a slightly quicker pace.

“I adore you. I mean it,” he breathes, the vibration of his voice rocking through Felix’s entire body. “I want to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me.”

Felix can only let out a choked-up cry in response, his breaths quickening as the heavy warmth within him grows closer and closer to surfacing. As if on cue, Sylvain’s arm wraps around him, pulling him in close enough for their bodies to press against one another. Felix is completely encompassed by Sylvain’s warmth, by the feeling of his fingers pressing and pushing at all the right places. 

“That’s it, angel,” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to Felix’s shoulder. “Let me take care of you.”

The idea of being doted on-- _ taken care of _ \--has always been associated with weakness in Felix’s mind. But he knows now that this isn’t something to be ashamed of. He’s worked himself to the bone lately, wound himself up too tight to relax. Sylvain’s help is needed, wanted,  _ appreciated. _

“God,  _ fuck-- _ ” 

With the rush of endorphins comes a surge of  _ relief. _ Felix keens into Sylvain’s hand, lips parting to let out a final soft, drawn-out moan as Sylvain rubs him all the way through it. 

Even after he finishes, Sylvain is pressed against him, caressing his hair and nuzzling at his shoulderblades. He stays there, a firm, calm anchor to Felix’s stormy sea. 

When Felix finally catches his breath, he turns over to press his face into Sylvain’s bare chest. Even though he knows his voice will be muffled, he speaks.

“Did you mean it?”

“Hm?” Sylvain sets his clean hand on the top of Felix’s head.

“You said you  _ adored _ me,” Felix mumbles.

Sylvain chuckles, squeezing Felix’s waist. “Yeah, I do.”

“Mm,” Felix hums, gripping Sylvain’s shoulders. “I’m only gonna say this once, so listen carefully. I adore you, too.”

Sylvain ruffles Felix’s hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Damn, you should’ve warned me earlier. I would’ve recorded it for future reference.”

“In that case, I’m glad I didn’t,” Felix mutters, smiling despite himself. “What time are you meeting the TA tomorrow?” 

Sylvain shrugs. “I’m not.” 

Felix stops. He feels his body fill with warmth again, the type of wildfire he’s far more used to. His voice resurfaces in a growl.

“Are you. Telling me. That I woke up at one-thirty in the fucking  _ morning _ to meet you for coffee for no good reason?”

Sylvain nods. “Yep. I just wanted to see you. Figured you’d agree with it if I paid you more.”

Felix wants to be upset, but it’s difficult to stay angry when Sylvain is smiling at him like he’s seeing color for the first time. In lieu of going on a tirade, he settles for a gentle  _ thwack _ to Sylvain’s side. Sylvain just laughs: a big, warm, innocent sound that fills the empty space. Felix can’t tell if he wants to smack Sylvain again or drag him down for another kiss. 

He opts for both. 

_ The traits can be good or bad, common or unique. But when they’re placed on a specific person, you’re deeply reminded of their humanity. _

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted felix to get some good attention in this because he deserves to be treated well and loved and adored and who better to give that to him than sylvain am i right fellas
> 
> i definitely projected my own insecurities with my anthropology minor onto this fic lol
> 
> thank you for reading <3


End file.
